


Snowdrops

by Hobbitfing



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU: free orcs, Angst, Dworin if you squint, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, dehumanization of orcs, mention of murdering a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3826045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitfing/pseuds/Hobbitfing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin finds young Bolg in a snowstorm and brings him home, not realizing who or what he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Diplomatic Relations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155299) by [Thorinsmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut). 



> This is an AU where Erebor fell and the battle of Azanulbizar happened, but subsequently Azog freed some orcs. The Dwarves don't know about the free orcs yet.
> 
> Written as a roleplay with my wife, the AO3-less one. (hi!)
> 
> *
> 
> Not even sure whose headcanons are whose anymore, but I'm pretty sure a lot of these are from Thorinsmut and Asparklethatisblue.
> 
> The thief who pops out eyeballs is a reference to Nori, specifically in the 'we must pretend to be boyfriends' au, which I think is Thorinsmut/Sparkle's, Bolg being an artist is a headcanon from Thorinsmut's Free Orc AU, but also from the artist teabirdy (teabirdy.tumblr.com). Cheek-pressing as a form of orc greeting is also Thorinsmut's. I think that's everything, but a lot of headcanons are starting to feel like fanon. :D Thanks for reading!

Not far from Ered Luin, the orcs set up camp. Azog relayed quiet orders and helped carry the injured and exhausted into the caves where the wargs were already warming up those who had nearly frozen. The few young ones who had wanted to play in the snow, and under the watchful eye of Lily, Bolg’s warg, they were allowed to.

It was getting darker and the snow was falling faster. Azog heard a howl from outside and bolted out. He was met by Lily, with her purple-speckled fur, with two little orclings. Bolg was nowhere to be found.

Within moments he was on Daisy, tracking his son. They were too close to so many enemies. They had hoped the forces of Mordor wouldn’t come so close to the Dwarves and Men, but it wasn’t a safe place for them.

Lily trailed behind Daisy, tail between her legs.

***

Thorin tramped through the snow, head down, beard fluffed around his face for warmth. He could trudge for hours like this, though it wasn’t especially pleasant, and already the snow was almost up to his knees. He grumbled softly under his breath, but his people could use the deer he dragged behind him. He paused, just for a moment, after he stumbled over something hidden in the snow. Over his heavy, panting breaths, he thought he heard…something. It almost sounded like a child, crying for help. He piled branches over the deer, leaving a small knot for protection from predators on its forehead. He was torn. If there was a child out in this storm, it was his responsibility to help. However…he’d heard rumors of foul creatures skulking in these parts, and he knew some of them wouldn’t be above playing such a cruel trick on an unwary traveler.

He took a deep breath, watching the steam curl away from his face, and took stock of himself. He was weary from his long walk, and the cold had made him stiff and slow. He was alone, and in no condition to face more than a handful of enemies, especially if they weren’t simply bandits—Men. He closed his eyes and listened, trying to hear over the sound of the storm and his own heartbeat.

With a muttered curse, he turned away from the deer and into the wind, where the sound seemed to be coming from. Ambush or not, it was his duty to investigate.

***

Bolg cried out again. He hadn’t thought he’d strayed very far from the others but then suddenly his footsteps disappeared behind him and he couldn’t figure out which way he’d come from. He could feel the cold taking his energy, deadening his fingers and face. At first he’d been afraid to call out in case someone heard him, but now he knew he needed to take the chance or no one would find him.

“Paraaaun!” he howled. Lily would find him soon. Or maybe Daisy and Azog. He was going to be in so much trouble, but it’d be worth it to hold warm warg fur and feel his fingers again. Bolg wrapped his arms around himself under his blue-tinged white fur and shivered. “Paraaauuuuunn!”

As he got closer, Thorin could no longer be sure if it sounded more like a child or an animal crying out. If it was an animal, wounded or trapped, he could end its suffering and bring more meat home for his people. They were starting to get snappish at living on dry meat and other winter-rations. “Hello!” he called, as he approached where he thought the sound was coming from—though it was damnably hard to tell, with the wind howling and shifting direction. “Is someone out there? Do you need help?”

Bolg froze when he heard common tongue. He’d learned it easily enough from the men who deigned to trade with orcs, but it meant that whoever was calling for him was not an orc.

After swallowing back a bit of fear, Bolg cried out again, in common tongue. “Help!” he waded through the chest high snow as best he could, heading towards the voice. “I’m here!”

It was definitely a voice! It sounded strange—rough and hoarse, but the speaker could have an accent, or it could simply be the cold. Who knew how long they’d been out here. “I’m coming! Stay where you are!” Thorin doggedly pushed his way through the snow, stumbling and cursing over things he couldn’t see. It would be dark soon, and he didn’t want to spend the night outside. He saw a small figure coming toward him. He recoiled, every hair on his body standing on end. He had the sudden, unmistakable feeling of wrongness coming from the person approaching him. He shook his head to clear it; it was just the cold getting to him, that was all. “I’m here. Get on my back, I’ll get you somewhere safe.” He sighed; at this point, he didn’t think he could get himself, the stranger and the deer back to the mountain before dark. He’d have to give it up for now, and hope he could get to it before predators did. He didn’t hold much store in the knots.

It was a dwarf. Bolg shrunk back, expecting to be attacked, but it offered to carry him. There was no choice. He climbed up the dwarf’s back and held onto the hood of his cloak. Warmth radiated out from the dwarf’s cloak like a fireplace and he nestled into it thankfully. “Thank you,” he said, loudly to be heard over the wind. What was the dwarf thinking? He clearly wasn’t a man or a dwarf. He was as pale as his father, but his hair was coloured pink from leaves and flowers he’d collected and even at his age he had decorative scars. He was wearing only his colourful fur, a soft pair of boots and a loincloth.

Hunching against the wind and the extra weight, Thorin turned and headed for home. Luckily, he could see the mountain from here, so not even he could get lost.

***

Daisy stopped and sniffed at the nearby trees. They’d found a deer carcass, with a dwarvish knot on top. She whined, low in her throat, hungry but not told she could eat. It could be a trap, and even if their bellies were empty, poison was worse than hunger.

Azog worked his fist into her ruff to warm his one remaining hand. His metal arm was frost-covered and starting to ache where it went through his flesh. The pale orc urged his warg on, calling to Lily to follow them.

***

Thorin hadn’t felt the stranger move for some time, and he feared the worst as he entered the mountain. “Oin! I need you, now!” He stamped the worst of the snow off his boots, trying to get some feeling back in his toes. He hoped he’d be bringing good news for some parents tonight. He could smell stew—plain, and made of preserved meat, but at the moment it was the best thing he’d ever smelled. His mouth watered as he stripped off his gloves, clapping them together to get rid of the ice and snow built up on them.

Oin came out of the large tent where some of the weaker or injured dwarves spent most of their time. He frowned, looking Thorin over. “Are ye hurt, lad?”

“I’m fine, but I found…someone. In the snow.” He turned around, offering Oin his passenger.

The healer hummed, taking the small bundle off of Thorin. “You… rescued him, did you?” He carried the child into his tent and laid it down on a spare cot. “I don’t think there’s much I can do,” he told Thorin as his King followed him in.

“Of course I did! Why do you say it like that?” Thorin followed, frowning. The ice on his beard didn’t make him look any less fierce. “You have to! I didn’t carry him all this way for him to…save him! Do your job.”

“I don’t mean that, I think he’ll live, but-” Oin looked down at the little shivering form. “He’s an orc. I have no experience healing orcs.”

Thorin’s eyes went wide, and the room seemed to spin. “I…he…what?!”

“I’m not surprised you didn’t notice, most orcs are more disfigured, and I’ve never seen one so young before,” the healer lowered his voice. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m going to…sit down.” Thorin sank onto a chair, and the world went black.

***

When Thorin awoke, Dis, Dwalin and Oin were sitting at a small table they’d set up near him and they were speaking quietly together.

Dis turned to look at him when he sat up. “He’s come around.”

Oin leaned over him and thumbed open one of his eyes and looked at it carefully. “Aye, he’s in alright shape. Just had a bit of a shock is all.”

“Ow. Hey, stoppit.” Thorin smacked at Oin’s hand. “Had the strangest dream…”

Dis snorted. “Oh, I doubt that. And you promised to bring home meat, which you didn’t…unless your tastes have changed. In which case, it’s all yours.”

“Did you catch something? Your hunting knife needed cleaning,” Dwalin had Thorin’s knife in his hands and was currently cleaning and oiling it.

“I…there was a deer.” Thorin frowned at his sister. “Where is it?”

“You didn’t bring home a deer,” Dwalin grimaced, “you brought home an orc.”

Oin pressed a cup into Thorin’s hands. “Drink it all.”

“I…what? Dwalin!” Thorin almost dropped the cup, trying to stand on badly trembling legs. “No! No, I…that was just a dream. There was a boy. I rescued a boy…”

“‘fraid not, brother dear.” Dis gave Dwalin a flat look. “Though we had planned on telling you a bit more…delicately. Just an orc. A very small one, to be sure, but an orc.”

Dwalin shrugged his big shoulders. “He needed to hear it, didn’t he.”

The grey-haired dwarf groaned, putting the cup to Thorin’s lips and tilting it back a bit so he got a mouthful. The strong, warm drink was bitter and cleared Thorin’s head a bit.

“There, feel better lad?” Oin patted Thorin’s shoulder. He’d taken off the young King’s snowy cloak and furs, as well as his boots and all his weapons. “Don’t worry, the orcling still hasn’t woken.”

“What…what should we do?” Thorin pulled a face at the foul-tasting drink, frowning at his companions. He knew what he should do, what he should have done the second he saw the foul creature, but…seeing the tiny orc lying there, so still and helpless…

“Well, I say we—” Dis began.

“Uncle Thorin! You’re home!” Thorin was tackled by a small dwarf with dark hair and braids flying everywhere. “We were all getting worried about you!” Kili climbed his uncle so he could see the still form lying on Oin’s table. “Is that an orc? Is he dead?!” He hopped down and approached the table, finger cautiously extended for a poke.

“Kee…” Fili followed his brother, not sure what to do. The adults all looked very serious, and uncle Thorin was very pale, with dark circles under his eyes.

Dis gave them a warning look. “Boys, not now. This isn’t the time to play. Go to Gloin’s place and stay there.”

Dwalin stood, “I’ll take them. Do you remember where you left the deer? It’s freezing out, the meat should still be fine if we get to it before anything else does.”

“But I wanna meet the orc! Lookit, he’s so small. Can we keep him?” Kili’s finger had almost touched the orc’s arm when it groaned and stirred. Kili shrieked and leapt back into his brother’s arms, almost sending them both sprawling.

“I think so.” Thorin described where he’d left the deer, ignoring his nephews and the orc for the time being; he had no idea what to do about either situation. “Thank you.” He managed a weak smile for Dwalin. Something occurred to him. “Oin. You could…well, I’m sure you have…you could finish him off in his sleep. Quietly. Yes?”

Dwalin grabbed both of the lads around their waists and hoisted them up to his shoulders, carrying them to Gloin’s place.

Oin frowned, looking at the little monster on his table. “Aye, but,” he sat on the edge of Thorin’s bed, “I’m not sure I want to.”

“Nooooooo uncle Dwaliiiiiiiiiiin!!!” Kili kicked and thrashed, but Dwalin might as well have been stone for all the good it did. They heard his voice trailing off as he was carried off.

Fili sat quietly on his shoulder, wondering what on earth was going on.

Thorin rubbed his temples. “Why?” he asked, softly, uncertainly.

“It’s clearly a child,” Oin said fiercely. “No matter who its kin, it’s still just a child. Murdering a child is exactly what I’d expect of an orc… or a monster.”

Thoroughly chastised, Thorin bowed his head. “I…agree.”

Dis shrugged. “So, we wait for the storm to end and put it back outside, hope its family’s nearby. Give it some food and supplies.”

Oin nodded. “Best we can do. We can’t possibly keep it here, but sending it out in the snow would be a death sentence.” He clapped Thorin on the shoulder, gave him another cup of strong tea, and went to check on the little orc.

Bolg stirred when Oin put a finger to his pulsepoint. His large blue eyes opened and it seemed to take him a moment to take everything in. He swallowed hard, shrinking away from the dwarves.

Thorin shivered and felt his gorge rise. Something about the orc was so horribly familiar…and yet, the thought of what he’d almost done repulsed him.

“Well, I’m going to make sure my boys aren’t destroying anything…or that Gloin hasn’t killed them.” Dis eyed the orc warily as she left.

“Shouldn’t we…tie it up or something?” Thorin thought he might be sick. He’d carried that…that thing on his back.

Oin shrugged. “We won’t hurt ye, little one,” he assured the orc, not sure if it would even understand him.

“But you’re dwarves,” Bolg squeaked, grabbing at his brightly coloured fur. Everything about him was colourful, now that Thorin looked. His scars had colour under them, his skin had paint decorating it, his fur and loincloth and boots were all spattered with paints and dyes and there were bright feathers sewn into them.

“You’re…you’re just a child. Aren’t you?” Any doubt Thorin had had—orcs came in many different sizes, after all, and some were nearly as small as goblins—had vanished when the orc spoke. And it looked so…absurd, covered in bright paints and splashes of colour. So harmless. He shook himself. That was dangerous thinking. They may have decided not to kill the orc, but that didn’t change what he knew about orcs.

Bolg nodded. “I’m four,” he whispered.

Oin shook his head. “What were you doing out in the snow, alone? Are there other orcs out there?”

The little orc clammed up and shook his head. He wouldn’t give anyone away. The dwarves might not hurt him but they’d definitely hurt grown up orcs.

Oin sighed, giving him a piece of licorice root. “Here, chew on this til we can get you something to eat.” Hopefully little orcs liked licorice like little dwarves did.

Bolg sniffed it, gave it a lick and made a face. He gnawed a tiny corner of it carefully, his teeth sharp.

Thorin couldn’t help but smile, watching the orc eat the candy. It had made the exact face Kili had when he’d eaten it for the first time. Of course, he’d been older. Four was so young; no dwarf would ever leave a child that young alone. Maybe this orc had been abandoned for its strange ways. His chest felt tight and hollow. “I have to go. Can’t be messing about all day with…this. Take care of it.”

His older cousin patted his arm, grabbing Thorin’s boots for him and making sure he was dressed before he left.

The orc waved at him as he left, then called after him. “Thank you!”

Thorin growled and left.

***

Of course, the deer wasn’t at all where Thorin’d said it’d be, but Dwalin’d been expecting that. Even so, he’d been about to give it up for lost and trudge home when he spied a freshly broken branch, then a few more. They led him to a heaped pile of branches. Shoving them aside, Dwalin found a deer carcass with a knot still in place. It didn’t look to have been touched by any predators, and Dwalin smiled to himself. This meat would be a welcome change in the mountain. Eschewing the sticks Thorin’d been using to drag the beast, Dwalin slung it over his shoulders, tying the legs back up to themselves so they wouldn’t drag on the ground. It didn’t matter if they got a little broken in the process.

He heard a howl from a distance. Daisy had perked up at the sound of branches moving and the smell of the deer as it was moved. She turned them around, leading them back to the deer.

Dwalin growled a curse, hurling the deer to the ground and unsheathing his axes. Apparently this deer’s spirit was putting up a fight.

Daisy skidded to a halt in front of the dwarf, snarling, hackled raised. Azog snapped at her in black speech and she took a few steps backwards. The orc’s heart fell. If there were dwarves wandering around out here, and Bolg had been found by them.

Dwalin snarled back at the warg, looking up—and up—at its rider. He stumbled at the sight, his eyes going wide. “No…it’s not possible. You’re dead.”

Azog slid off Daisy, patting her side, letting her know it was alright. Lily crawled in on her belly, unsure of her place between Daisy’s rage and Azog’s calm.

“I am looking for a young orc.” he said, as plainly as he could, hand and metal limb extended in a gesture of peace.

Dwalin froze for a moment. All he could do was stand there and blink. “We…have it. It’s safe.”

“Bring me to him.” Azog’s deep voice sounded sure and calm but his insides felt like ice. His son was being held captive by dwarves.

“I don’t take orders from orcs,” Dwalin growled, “but I want it off my hands, and I’m not a child-killer.”

Daisy couldn’t help but growl back at the dwarf, but Azog held out a hand and she stilled. “I will follow you to him.” This was definitely one of the dwarves that had fought outside of Moria. He recognized him, and had seen his injuries then. But there was hope for Bolg yet. Azog mounted Daisy and waited for the stranger to start walking.

The back of Dwalin’s neck prickled. He was reluctant to take orcs closer to the mountain, but it wasn’t exactly a secret that dwarves lived there. He held Grasper so he could watch the orcs in its reflective surface, and trudged through the snow ahead of them. Just for an instant, he wished he were seated on top of a warm warg, instead of fighting his way through knee-high snow.

The dwarf clearly wasn’t going to try and carry his deer home with orcs to guard against. Azog leaned off the side of his warg and grabbed it, hauling it over Daisy’s back.

After ten minutes of watching the dwarf trudge through the snow, Azog was getting impatient. He whistled for Lily and she came to him. He gave her a command and she took a place in front of Dwalin, pushing through the snow and leaving him a fine wide path.

Dwalin shook his head. If anyone had asked him how he’d thought tonight would go…this wouldn’t have been it. Not even in his top thousand guesses. He mumbled a ‘thank you’ to the beast, hearing his mother’s voice in his head. His walk was certainly easier. When they approached the mountain, Dwalin turned and addressed the orcs. “Wait here. I’m not letting you inside, and even if I did, you wouldn’t get very far. I’ll get your young one for you.”

Azog nodded and to Dwalin’s surprise, bowed his head and thanked him.

Dwalin grunted in response, not sheathing his axes until he was well inside the mountain. He hurried to Oin, not sure what to expect. Despite himself, he hoped the little orc hadn’t been killed. If only because he was in no mood to fight in the snow. No other reason.

Oin was feeding the little orc, who was watching everything with wide eyes and hungrily devouring the thin stew Oin had given him. The healer looked up when Dwalin came in and frowned. “Anything wrong?”

“I found the deer, but I couldn’t bring it home. Want to guess why?”

“It got eaten by something?” Oin hazarded.

“…no. Much, much worse. But also better? We can get rid of that,” he inclined his head at the little orc.

Bolg hunched his shoulders in, not sure what was meant by ‘get rid of’.

Oin raised an eyebrow. “More orcs?”

“Aye. More orcs.”

“Is he big and white with a metal arm?” Bolg interrupted, climbing down from the table.

“Aye, he is. You know him?” The sheer impossibility of what he’d seen stiffened every muscle on Dwalin’s body, but there could be no mistaking the orc he’d seen—Azog.

“He’s my parent.” the little orc responded.

“…of course he is. C’mon then, let’s get you back to him. And out of our beards.” Dwalin held out a hand for the tiny orc, the way he would for a dwarfling, then quickly withdrew it.

Bolg followed Dwalin out, bowing quickly to Oin before he left.

*** 

Thorin had retired to his room and tried to read and take his mind off of…whatever had happened…by reading, but he hadn’t been able to focus. Setting the book down, he’d begun to pace, and his boots had led him to the mountain’s entrance in hopes of meeting Dwalin when he returned. He found a commotion and pushed his way through, trying to learn what was happening.

One of the city guards was trying to keep everyone away, but a crowd had formed and some dwarves were trying to look outside. “King Thorin!” the guard sounded relieved, and afraid. “There’s an orc outside. I didn’t know what else to do!”

“Close the gate! Secure all entrances!” Even as he shouted orders, Thorin climbed a nearby flight of stairs that led to a fortified arrow slit. Gazing down on the small gathering of orcs and wargs below, he had a flashback to Azanulbizar so vivid he felt as though he’d been kicked in the chest, and he nearly fell. Azog. For just an instant, he’d thought he’d seen…but no. That was impossible. He’d killed…  
Dwalin pushed through to the gate with a tiny orc in tow. “Thorin!” he called when he saw his cousin. “It’s alright.”

“Dwalin!” Thorin half-ran, half-fell down the stairs into Dwalin’s arms. “Please, I can’t…I don’t understand…” He was shaking violently, uncontrollably, so distraught that he hadn’t even noticed the orc at Dwalin’s side.

“It’s alright,” Dwalin told him, wrapping his arms around his shield brother. “He’s real. He’s here, but he just wants his son back.” Dwalin pressed his forehead to Thorin’s, trying to calm him down.

Bolg squirmed at Dwalin’s side. He was so close to being back with his father, what if they changed their minds? “Paraun!” he called through the gate.

“Bolg!” there was a bellow from the other side.

“No. No no no no no…” Thorin pressed his forehead to Dwalin’s. He would’ve fallen if his cousin hadn’t been holding him up. “Make him go away. Please, Dwalin, make him go away…” He wasn’t sure if that was possible, if Azog hadn’t somehow crept out of his mind and could never been gotten rid of again.

“I’ll take care of it. Stay inside.” Dwalin sat Thorin down on the stairs and went to open the gate, Bolg following him impatiently.

Thorin drew his knees up to his chest, curling himself into the smallest possible ball. He stared after Dwalin’s retreating back, wanting nothing more than to call him back, to be in his arms again. He knew, with dread certainty, that he would lose Dwalin now, and that he was powerless to stop whatever was coming. He would have to sit here and watch, just as he had before. He wanted to leap up and fight beside Dwalin, to take a stand against Azog even if it was hopeless, they were outnumbered, but his muscles wouldn’t move. He could only sit there and shake and watch as Dwalin spoke to the orc who had haunted more of Thorin’s life than he dared admit even to himself.

“This is yours?” Dwalin stepped aside, revealing the tiny orc. “Or is there another running around?”

Azog knelt, holding out his arms. “Bolg!”

Bolg threw himself at Azog, leaping into his arms and bursting into tears. The tall orc stood to look at Dwalin, Bolg cradled to his chest with his good arm. “Thank you.”

Dwalin nodded, once, solemnly. “Go,” he said, gruffly but not unkindly, the gate already half-shut. He needed to return to his king. He didn’t want to think about what wounds had been reopened. He could hear the small orc happily chattering to his father.

“Wait!” Azog called. He put Bolg down and pulled the deer down from Daisy. “This is yours.” He tossed it to Dwalin’s feet, not wanting to get too close to the dwarf with the axes. Azog mounted Daisy and waited until Bolg was on Lily before turning to get back to their people.

“Thank you…” Dwalin said, softly, dragging the deer inside and barring the gate. He allowed himself a moment to lean against it, his head spinning, before climbing the stairs to where he’d left Thorin.

“Is he gone? I wanted to say goodbye!” Kili ran full-tilt into the entrance, narrowly dodging several other dwarves who were still wondering if they needed to arm themselves for war.

“He’s gone. Run along, Kili, it’s late out.” Dwalin sighed, sitting next to Thorin, who had buried his face in his arms. He wrapped an arm around his King. “They’re gone.”

“I missed him? I miss everything good!”

“Kee! Leave uncle Thorin and Dwalin be. Can’t you see they’re upset?” Fili ran to his brother, bodily grabbing him and pulling him away.

Kili sighed, but allowed himself to be dragged.

“No, they’re not. They’re never gone.”

The crowd dispersed, leaving Dwalin and their king alone.

“Maybe not,” Dwalin murmured, pressing their heads together again. “But no one got hurt. They didn’t threaten us. This time was different, and we’re safe.”

“Nothing about today made sense. Why do I smell wet deer?”

“He carried the deer back for me,” Dwalin said incredulously.

Thorin couldn’t help it; he started to laugh. And once he’d started, he couldn’t stop until he was sobbing against Dwalin’s chest.

Dwalin just held him, silently, stroking his hair and murmuring sweet things to him.

***

As soon as they were far enough away, Azog slowed Daisy so Lily could fall into step with them.

“What were you thinking?” he hissed. “You could have been killed.”

“…sorry.” Bolg hunched, burying his arms and face in Lily’s thick, multi-coloured fur. He’d known he’d be in trouble when—if—his father found him, and he was mostly just relieved at being reunited with his father. “I didn’t realize I’d gotten so far away from the others, and then it was snowing so hard, I couldn’t see where I’d come from. And Lily was gone, and…”

Azog snarled down at Lily again and she whined. “I don’t know why they didn’t kill you, but I’m glad you’re unhurt. What did they say to you?”

“I…I don’t know. I was so cold…I think I was asleep.” Bolg nudged Lily’s side, urging her closer to her mother and his father.

The warg moved, reluctantly, ducking her head and cautiously eyeing both Daisy and her rider.

Bolg leaned his head on his father’s thigh, gripping the ragged leather of his loincloth. “I was so scared, but I knew you’d come for me.”

“I would have fought to get you back,” Azog put his hand over his son’s head, stroking the soft tuft of hair. “Do not wander off again.”

“I won’t. I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili is left alone, and wants to go on an adventure. So he goes in search of Bolg.

Kili sighed. He hated being told he was ‘too young’, and he was told it far more often than he appreciated. Now, his mother and brother were off doing some sort of training, and he was—predictably—too young. He hated being left behind, with only his broody, moody uncle Thorin, and boring old Balin. Even Dwalin was too busy for him. He pushed a toy cart across the floor, sighing again. Not that anyone was around to listen. He didn’t just want to play at having adventures, he wanted to have one. He remembered the young orc his uncle had brought home—and miraculously, not killed. He probably had adventures all the time, every day. Maybe he was still nearby. Kili gathered the things he’d need—his blunt toy sword, the bits of food he had squirreled away in his room, his traveling cloak (not that he ever got to use it) and…something precious. He headed for the entrance of the mountain. Everyone expected him to be loud and obvious, so no one looked for him when he was quiet, and it was really easy to slip past everyone and out the gate. Out in the snow, he wasn’t sure which way to go. The world opened up in all directions, with no signs or anything saying, ‘Orcs This Way.” He closed his eyes and pulled out his sword. Spinning in a circle while holding it out, he set out in the direction the tip pointed when he stopped.

The wind was mild today, but the snow was still deep. The wargs didn’t mind bounding through and over it, but it still impeded them. Hunting was slow. Bolg had finally been allowed out of their cave again. After the last scare, Azog had been paranoid, waking with dreams of dwarves finding them and slaughtering them all. It had taken a few weeks before he had allowed any of the orclings outside to play. Now they were only allowed out if they stayed with their wargs the whole time.

Bolg sat backwards on his warg, Lily, and braided small bits of her fur. She flopped down on the snow, groaning. Quietly, Bolg began to hum to himself.

Kili started humming. He wasn’t sure where the tune came from, but it was strange and beautiful. Soon he was full-out singing wordlessly, adding embellishments, lost in the song.

In answer to whoever was singing with him, Bolg began to clap and whistle, the curious whistle-hum that seemed unique to orcs.

There was someone else, making music with him out in the snow! Kili scrambled through the snowdrifts toward the sound, heedless of any danger. He clapped a counterpoint, wondering how the musician was making the other sound.

Bolg stood up on Lily and saw someone coming. It was a dwarf! He sat back down and urged Lily forward, to run home. She’d only taken one bound through the snow when he stopped her. The dwarf looked young… maybe his age. Maybe he didn’t want to fight. And even if he did, Lily would protect him. Still, he was going to be in a lot of trouble. He hesitated, but finally turned his warg to walk towards the dwarf.

Kili waved enthusiastically, calling out in time to the song they were making together. It was his orc, sure enough! He’d seen pictures of orcs in Balin’s musty old books, and none of them looked like this—pale, covered in wild splotches and spatters of colour. The warg was a lot bigger than the ones in the drawings, and he was a little afraid, but…this was an adventure, no doubt about it!

Azog’s son stopped shyly a few feet before Lily’s nose reached the dwarf. “Hi,” he opened his hand, showing the dwarf his palm.  
“Hi! I’m Kili. You don’t remember me, but I know you. Well, I don’t know you, but I saw you. When you were in my mountain. Well, not my mountain. My uncle’s mountain.”

“I’m Bolg,” he said, “and this is Lily.”

Kili nodded, seriously, then remembered his manners. “Kili, son of Firi, at your service.” He bowed, only a little nervous to show the back of his neck to the great beast.

“Oh!” Bolg slid off Lily, bowing back, mimicking Kili’s manner. “Bolg, son of Azog, at your service,” he smiled, showing sharp teeth.

Kili smiled back. “I came looking for you. I wanted to give you a present, because I didn’t get to meet you properly before, and I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

“You brought me a present?” Bolg’s eyes widened.

“Mm-hmm.” Kili dug in his pockets, producing an astonishing amount of string, pebbles, and other items of worth, before he found what he was looking for: a beautifully crafted set of two small brass jars with lids.

“Oh!” Bolg took them carefully, putting one in the crook of his elbow and prying open the other jar to look inside. It was dark inside, so he stuck in a finger and it came out black. “Ohh, paints?”

“Yup! Well, ink, really. I’m not allowed paints in my room anymore. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, because we didn’t get to talk earlier, but I thought you might like painting or drawing because of all the colour on you. Sorry it’s only two colours.”

Bolg closed the one he’d peeked at and opened the other, smiling when he saw the deep red. He screwed the lid back on, then came forward, pressing his cheek to Kili’s. He giggled a little at the tickle of Kili’s short beard.

Kili giggled too, rubbing his jaw along Bolg’s. His glands didn’t make much scent yet, but it was still a very friendly gesture, and he was glad Bolg liked him as much as he liked the orc. He narrowed his eyes, looking around at the apparently empty landscape. “You’re not lost again, are you? My uncle’s always getting lost, but I’m good at finding my way.”

“Lily knows where we are,” Bolg patted his warg’s nose. “Want to pet her?”

“Yeah!” He didn’t think anyone—ever—had petted a warg before. Not even Balin.

“Lily, this is Kili,” Bolg told his warg. “He’s a friend. Bosnauk (Ally),” Bolg stroked her side to show Kili how. Lily patiently let the dwarf approach, sniffing him carefully.

“Our names rhyme!” Kili said, delighted. He was a little nervous at first, but the warg’s big, cold, wet nose was so enthusiastic that she almost pushed him over and he couldn’t help but laugh. Slowly, watching Lily carefully, Kili lifted his hand and touched her fur. He’d been expecting it to be rough and shaggy, and he was surprised by how soft it was. It was very thick, too—his hand sunk in quite far. She didn’t feel at all like uncle Dwalin’s wargskins, and the thought made him feel a little sick.

“She takes care of me,” Bolg leaned his head against her shoulder, scratching behind her ear. Lily gave a satisfied groan. Taking the two brass jars, Bolg carefully stored them in Lily’s saddlebags, which were soft leather, spattered in colourful paints and patterns. “There,” he turned back to Kili. “I don’t have anyone my age to play with,” he said. “All the other orclings are really little.”

Kili’s eyes went wide. “Same! Well, besides my brother. He’s just a little bit older than me. And Ori, but I don’t think he likes me very much. He never talks to me. But other than them, it’s just my baby cousin, Gimli. And he bites.”

Bolg laughed, “Yeah, Ia and Rau bite too, look!” he showed Kili an old bitemark, proudly. “They’re still learning not to bite.”

“Wow! He doesn’t bite that hard. And I mostly stay away from him.” Kili shivered, wishing he’d dressed in more layers.

“Are you cold?” Bolg asked. He was starting to cool off too, but Lily was right here so he knew he could warm up. “Wanna sit on Lily? She’s warm.”

“A l-little. Really? She won’t mind?” Definitely, no dwarf had ever ridden a warg, Kili was sure about that.

“She won’t mind, she’s big enough to carry us both. Rrau,” he told his warg, and she sat, waiting for him to climb on. He scaled her like a furry mountain, offering Kili a hand up.

Kili grabbed the orc’s hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, climbed aboard. “She’s warm! But you feel really cold.” He settled himself in the warm, soft, musky fur, pressed close behind Bolg.

“She keeps me warm,” Bolg smiled. “Um, like a snake. You know?”

Kili nodded, though he wasn’t sure what snakes and wargs had to do with one another. “Can she go really fast?” He’d ridden ponies a few times, and once a goat, when he’d managed to convince a miner to let him have a go and none of his uncles or his mother had been around, but he’d never been allowed to run at top speed.

“Yeah!” Bolg grinned, gripping Lily’s fur and told her, “Rend!”

Lily stood and bounded across the snow. She was slowed down by the fluffy snow that she sunk into up to her belly, but still she was much faster than anything Kili had ever ridden. It was a lot more jumping than he had expected too.

Between the wind and jarring landings, Kili was quickly out of breath, and he closed his eyes a few times. Even with his eyes closed, it was exhilarating, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. After a few minutes to adjust, he was laughing out loud and calling out encouragement to the warg. “If she’s this fast in the snow,” he yelled to Bolg, “I can’t imagine how fast she’d be on level, open ground!”  
“She’s really fast,” Bolg yelled over the wind, stroking Lily’s neck proudly. “She might be the matriarch someday.”

“The what?” Kili thought the word was in the common tongue, but he had no idea what it meant. Riding Lily was strangely exhausting, even though she was doing all the work, and he was soon trembling with fatigue and cold.

“Um, the leader. Are you okay?” Bolg turned around, calling to Lily to slow down. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m f-fine!” Kili protested, but his arms were shaking, and it was getting harder to hold on.

“I’ll take you home,” the little orc offered, turning Lily towards Ered Luin.

“Thanks! Will I get to see you again? I want you to meet my brother, too.”

“Maybe? I’m sure my father won’t be happy to know I met a dwarf,” Bolg sobered a little. He took his fur off and wrapped it around Kili’s shoulders to warm him up. He was getting all the warmth he needed from Lily’s warm body. “But I’d like to see you again.”

“I can’t tell anyone about you, either. But me too.” Kili cuddled into the fur, thinking deeply. “Maybe…maybe we could find a way to leave each other notes, secretly?” Having a secret friend sounded like great fun to Kili.

“I can’t read much yet,” Bolg confided. “But if I hear you singing, I’ll come find you.”

Ered Luin was close and Bolg was too nervous to get within range of any archers. He pulled Kili close, pressing their cheeks together again. “Thanks for the present.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for the ride!” Kili rubbed his cheek against Bolg’s, then moved so their foreheads were pressed together. “I’ll see you again. Promise.” He slid off the warg’s back, wanting to impress his new friend. He waved as he trotted back into the mountain.

Bolg waved, turned Lily and rode home.

***

Kili slipped into the mountain, pleased that no one seemed to have noticed his absence. He headed back to his room to change and get ready for a nice, hot bath.

Dwalin caught sight of him in the halls and grabbed him, scooping him up in his arms. The warrior made a face, “Kili! You’re freezing. Where have you been?” He paused to take a sniff. “Ugh, what’s that stink on you?”

“Eep! Uncle Dwalin! I thought you were still out with the guards. I, uh, I need a bath.”

“You definitely do,” he agreed, putting the little dwarf up on his shoulder. “What did you get up to today?”

“Went for a walk. I was looking to see if I could see Fee and Mama coming home. I guess I lost track of time.”

“What do you smell like?” he raised an eyebrow, putting Kili down near the bath, which was essentially a large half-barrel. He began to fill it for the lad from the metal barrels they kept nearby, one heated by the fire, one left cold, so they could mix it into warm.

“Kili-sweat.”

“That is not your usual stink,” Dwalin grinned. “Get undressed and hop in, you little pain.”

“Is so. Did you scare any of the guards so bad they peed themselves?” Kili shucked off his clothes, glad he’d hidden his new fur near the entrance of the mountain. He made a face at the bath; normally he avoided them, but he didn’t want anyone else to smell warg or orc on him, and he was cold.

“Not this time,” Dwalin chuckled. Clearly Kili wasn’t going to tell him what he’d been up to, but he wasn’t hurt so that was alright. Even dwarflings needed some secrets.

“Did you make any of them cry?” Kili asked, grinning wickedly, holding up his arms for Dwalin to pour steaming water over him.

Dwalin filled up a pitcher and poured water over the skinny little prince. “No, though one got a wobbly lip,” he soaked Kili and then offered him a sliver of soap and a round piece of rough stone. “You scrub yourself up.”

“Do you think they’ll keep being a guard? Did you tell them about that thief who pops people’s eyes right out?” Kili gave a happy shudder at the thought, scrubbing himself down thoroughly. Luckily it had been Dwalin who’d found him; he didn’t ask too many questions.

“I don’t know, lad. Maybe they’ll tough it out. Not everyone’s meant to be a guard. And don’t you start telling stories about thieves again. Not everything needs to be repeated.” He rinsed some of the soap off Kili once he’d scrubbed himself and seemed not to smell quite so offensive anymore. He’d smelled like a wet warg when he first hopped in the bath. “You want me to braid your hair after your bath, or do you want to braid it?”

Kili was sleepy after his adventure, and he yawned broadly. “You do. And you’ll brush?”

“Yes, I’ll brush,” Dwalin promised, rinsing the rest of the soap off Kili and draining the tub. “Come on out,” he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Kili’s shoulders, letting him dry himself off while he grabbed the boar-hair brush and a simple bead for the end of Kili’s braid. Once the little lad was dryish, Dwalin brushed through his hair until it shone in heavy dark waves, plaited it as tightly and as neatly as he could, and clasped it at the end with the bead. “There. You want a nap before supper?” he offered, tossing Kili’s dirty clothes onto the edge of the tub, not willing to deal with them while he still had a Kili to take care of.

“Yeahhhh…” Kili agreed, snuggling down in Dwalin’s arms with another yawn.

“Alright,” he carried Kili to Thorin’s room, tucked Kili into his Uncle’s bed and kissed his forehead. “You sleep. I’ll wake you for dinner.”

“‘k. Love you uncle Dwalin.”

***

Bolg rode hard back to the other orcs; he’d have to hurry if he didn’t want his father to worry. Luckily, Lily was young and strong and well up for another run. Wargs’ endurance was legendary. She was sweating by the time they returned, though, and that was suspicious. She followed him into the wargs’ lean-to, so she wouldn’t be out in the cold with damp fur. He wiped her down as best he could, brushing out where the fur was thickest and daubing on some of his new paint—ink—to hide the wetness.

“Bolg, where were you?” Azog asked, coming into the lean-to behind his son.

“…riding.” Bolg was almost certain his father would get his whereabouts out of him eventually, but stalling couldn’t hurt. He continued brushing Lily with his back to Azog.

“With a dwarf?” the pale orc growled.

“…yes…” Bolg whispered.

There was a long pause as Azog tried to sort through his anger. He didn’t like being angry with Bolg. Things were different now and orcs no longer needed to be the same angry, subdued soldiers they used to be. He wanted his people, and especially his son, to live a happier life, without threats or fear held over their heads.

“Tell me everything,” he sat next to Bolg, watching him colour Lily’s fur.

Bolg reluctantly explained how he’d met his new friend, and showed his father the gift the young dwarf had given him. “And he was really nice, and Lily liked him,” he concluded.

He sat quietly for another few minutes, thinking it through. One young dwarf was at least on equal footing with Bolg and Lily, if not outmatched. And maybe their friendship could mean something entirely new for orcs. “It’s alright, Bolg. But I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.” And Bolg meant it, though he hoped it wouldn’t be a promise to never see his friend again. “And I didn’t mean to break my promise before. He found me, I didn’t wander off. Well, not at first.” He hung his head.

“You can see him again. But if you ever see him with a weapon, or if he has other dwarves with him, I want you to ride home,” Azog lifted his son’s chin, meeting his gaze firmly. “Do not let your guard down. Dwarves are still our enemies, even if this one dwarf is not.”

“I know. And I promise. Thank you!” Bolg clapped with delight, leaping into his father’s arms.

Azog stood with Bolg in his arms. “Are you done with Lily?” The warg perked up at her name and Azog let his son scramble down to see to her.

“I think so. She’s mostly dry now.” Bolg gave Lily a reassuring pat, ruffling her ears.

“That’s good. Let’s eat.”

“Love you, paraun.” Bolg nuzzled his jaw against his father’s, before making sure Lily had some food and water for the night.

“Love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Paraun" means "parent" in Black Speech.
> 
> Our headcanon is that 6 is the age of majority for orcs. Just as a point of reference.


End file.
